


Anyone’s Ghost

by bluebox_girl42



Category: BBC Ghosts, Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26844826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebox_girl42/pseuds/bluebox_girl42
Summary: Okay so originally this was meant to be a short and sweet reader fic about dancing with Thomas to cheer you up. But my muse is apparently Steven Moffat, so i ended up making this into an angsty 2 or 3 part fic instead.I did’nt want to do a dead!reader story and i was inspired partly by the ending of Casper and the Dr Who episode Hide, and i wanted to play around a little with what actually is a ghost...The reader suffers with anxiety and is a bit of wallflower at parties, however Thomas asks them to dance and after a bit of reluctance they agree. After all one dance could’nt do any harm could it...However their unrequited feelings for the poet are forced to the surface when they find out during the dance that they can touch him. Should they kiss Thomas or are somethings better left unsaid.
Relationships: Thomas Thorne & Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Anyone’s Ghost

You stood in the corner of the room, glass in hand, watching as members of the wedding party celebrated together. Since staying at Button Hall and discovering it’s ghostly residents, you had finally found some inner peace. Or so you had thought. Unfortunately, it was moments like this when you felt out of place and the spectre of your anxiety started creeping at the corners of your mind. You shook your head in an attempt to banish the negative thoughts before they could take hold. Instead, you tried to focus on what everyone else was doing, maybe you could join in with someone. Slip into a conversation or something. Even the ghosts managed that and they were dead. 

Mike and Alison were laughing with the wedding planner, celebrating the success of their latest wedding. Julian was yelling at someone for using the wrong alcohol in their mixer. You had to stifle the urge to laugh at the sight of the trouserless man getting more and more worked up by the “Cretin wasting the good booze!” he yelled over the music. Robin and Mary…well you weren’t sure what they were doing, it looked more like disorganized flailing than dancing, but it made them happy. The Captain was standing talking to Pat about something, but you were too far away to hear what. Kitty was dancing with the bridesmaids. While Lady Button was sat with a group of elderly women and nodding along with their conversation. From the look of it, they were either bemoaning the noise, the manners or the modern dress. 

Everyone looked so happy, without you. It was as if you were the ghost. Something in you snapped. You put your drink down on the nearby table and decided to head to your room for the night. But a voice stopped you mid-turn. 

“You are not leaving are you?” 

You couldn't help but smile at that voice as you turned around. “I’m not really very good with parties. I’m a bit of a wallflower.” You folded your arms across your chest nervously as you looked up at the poet. “Who am I kidding, I’m a huge wallflower.” 

Thomas smiled his most charming smile, “Well I think you are the prettiest wallflower I have ever seen.” 

You couldn't help but smile at that. “Flattery will get you nowhere Mr Thorne. Although don’t stop trying.” You laughed. 

You could tell Thomas was building up the courage to something from the way he smiled back. “Dance with me!” He blurted out. 

”I…I don't know how to dance.” You said shocked and surprised. 

“Just follow my lead.” He held out a hand, both of you knew you could never take. You tried not to remember the time you had accidentally bumped into him or rather through him, it wasn’t long after you realised you could see him. He’d been green around the gills for nearly half an hour afterwards and you’d felt bad for days. You had always been extra careful around the ghosts after that. 

You shook your head as you looked at the increasingly drunken wedding guests. The voice in your head telling you how stupid you would look to them dancing on your own. ”I…” 

Thomas saw the look on your face, ”If it helps, after tomorrow, you will never see these people again.” He paused as if trying to block out a painful memory. ”Take it from me, life is for living. Not wasting it away, worrying about what your contemporary’s think of you.” You noted the hint of melancholy behind his words. 

“Okay, but don’t blame me if your ashamed to be seen with me after this.” You tried to joke. 

“I would never be ashamed to be seen with you, Y/N,” Thomas said in your ear as you walked with him to the dance floor. For a second you could have sworn you felt his breath on your ear but it must have been a trick of your imagination. The dead don’t breathe. 

Thomas took his place on the dance floor and bowed to you. You struggled not to laugh at the sight of a regency poet preparing to dance to Little Mix. He nodded for you to follow suit. As you did so, you cautiously glanced around and realised no one was paying any attention to you. It made you feel a bit better about making an idiot of yourself. You could only hope Alison and the other ghosts didn't turn around and see this. 

***

Halfway through the second song, you found you had stopped caring what anyone might think of you. This was actually a lot of fun you realised as you and Thomas circled each other. The smile on his face was infectious and for the first time that evening, you actually found you were enjoying yourself. Out of the corner of your eye, you realised you weren't the only one as Pat had somehow managed to persuade the Captain and Lady Button to get up and dance with him. 

“Thank you, Thomas.”

“For what?”

“For asking me to dance.” you smiled. 

Thomas smiled back, “When one has a countenance as lovely as yours, one should never look anything but joyful.” 

You couldn't help but notice how particularly handsome Thomas looked under the strings of fairy lights and artificial candles. That was the moment you were brought back to reality. Thomas Thorne was a regency poet who died in 1824. Emphasis on the word DIED. Emphasis on the DATE. You couldn't be falling in love with a ghost…Oh who were you kidding, you’d fallen for him long ago. Ever since that night in the library during the storm. 

You found your movements slowing as your stomach started to churn again. One of the guests drunkenly swayed a bit too close to you as they made their way back from the bar, multiple drinks in hand and you found yourself losing your balance and falling forwards. You cursed yourself for not paying closer attention to those around you. You waited for the sensation of pain from hitting the wooden floor. But instead, you found yourself being caught by Thomas. For a moment you found yourself getting lost in those big chocolate brown eyes of his. Which suddenly got bigger the moment he realised what he had just done. 

Your brain tried to process the fact that you hadn't fallen through him this time. You could feel the sensation of the fabric of his waistcoat as your hands rested on his shoulders. 

“Thomas…” 

“Y/N” 

You felt his fingers gently squeeze your waist, it was as if he was making sure you were the one who was real. 

”How…how is that possible?” He asked 

”I don't know.” You whispered. 

All of a sudden the tempo of the music changed as it became slower and more romantic. The sound of your heart racing threatened to drown out every other sound in the world. You swallowed hard as you tried to look anywhere but Thomas’ lips. You valued his friendship too much to destroy it in a moment of madness. 

’He is a ghost! He is dead!’ a voice in your head kept repeating. ’Think how this looks to everyone else you idiot!’

Thomas leaned in closer to you. Neither of you letting go of the other. 

”We should probably talk to the others about this.” His voice suddenly becoming lower. “They might have seen this kind of thing before. They might know...”

“No!...” you blurted out.

Thomas looked at you confused. You tried to swallow the panic that was rising in your throat at the thought of the others finding out about your feelings for the poet. ’As the Captain once said you must bury your feelings.’ You reminded yourself. 

“I mean maybe Robin or Humphrey. I don’t want to get the other’s hopes up.” You lied. ”Especially Pat or…” You trailed off, Thomas’s lips and the voice in your head telling you to kiss him, becoming too distracting.

For a moment the two of you held each other, neither of you making a move towards the other. You realised sadly this was possibly the first time Thomas had held on to someone since his death hundreds of years ago.

Were his lips getting closer to yours or were yours getting closer to his. Suddenly a posh voice cut through your thoughts.

”Oiks, the lot of them.” Julian boomed loudly at you both as he gestured to the wedding guests surrounding him.

Startled, you pulled away from Thomas as fast as you could before Julian could see what was going on. The last thing you needed was constant mocking from the former MP. Thomas looked at you confused at the sudden distance you put between the two of you. 

“Life is wasted on the living.” Julian bemoaned, as he got closer. Oblivious to the fact that you and Thomas had just been having a moment. 

“Great timing as ever Julian.” You tried to joke, unfortunately, it fell flat.

You briefly caught the flash of hurt and anger in Thomas’ eyes at your words, you felt yourself becoming confused by his reaction. Was he angry at you or Julian?

Thomas bunched up his fists, “If you were not already dead Julian, I swear I would…” 

However, the man wasn't listening. Too distracted by the sudden sight of two giggling women heading towards the doorway. 

“Oooh hello!” He called out straightening his tie as he followed them out. His important rant suddenly drowned out by his lust. 

Thomas stared daggers at the man’s back as he watched him leave. The spell between you and Thomas shattered and the mood between you shifted. You stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do next. Thankfully the lights cut out leaving only the battery-operated artificial candles and the moon outside for light, giving you the perfect get-out clause. 

“Robin!!!” You heard a chorus of voices call out behind you.

“Not me!” The caveman shouted back with the tone of a defensive toddler.

“I should…I should help Alison…and Mike.” You nervously pointed as your stomach swirled like a washing machine on a heavy spin cycle. 

Thomas nodded. “Of course. We would not want anarchy to break out now would we.” His voice suddenly grew stiff as he gestured at the room.

You realised you must have embarrassed him with your actions. For the first time since his death he had managed to touch someone and what did you do? You nearly kissed him. You took advantage of him at a time when he needed a friend. Guilt and shame gnawed away at you and you quickly left the poet standing next to the window. His jaw clenched, no longer looking at you. You headed towards Mike and Alison. The couple were trying to reassure the guests. You tried to blink back the tears you could feel forming in your eyes as Alison instructed you to go with Mike and find candles and torches. You were thankful she was too busy to notice your upset. 

In the doorway, you turned around for one last look at Thomas, but to your sorrow, the poet was gone. You kicked yourself as you realised he was probably regretting ever asking you to dance with him. You had gone and ruined your friendship with the only person who truly mattered to you, both in life and death. You found yourself wishing you had left the party when you had the chance. Maybe if you had, you would still have a friendship with him. 

What you didn’t see was Thomas dramatically storming off to the library. Once he was alone he sat down next to the window and held up a hand. For a moment he simply stared at his fingers, he could still feel the warmth from your body. The kind of warmth he hadn't felt for centuries. He reached out to touch the nearby bookshelf, but his fingers went straight through the wood. Disappointed and hurt, his shoulders slumped and he found himself wishing he had never asked you to dance. What was he thinking? If he had just let you leave the two of you might still be friends. He cursed himself, of course, you would never see him as anything more than a friend. No one ever did.


End file.
